• The blood on your hands,
    You're wishing is fake,
    Is sure to still be there,
    Once you awake.

    The roses you planted,
    To cover the spot,
    Though sweet in scent,
    Can't cover the rot.

    The guilt on your mind,
    Is not false, it is true,
    The last one who deserves saving,
    Happens to be you.

    The end that you caused,
    With your very own hands,
    Was premature,
    Though oddly planned.

    The time you spent,
    Thinking of ending her life,
    Was torturing and sick,
    You ended both your strife.

    The end,
    Did it matter,
    At all to you,
    Or are you too shattered?

    The saying is true,
    'Til death do us part,
    You took her life,
    When you stole her heart.